Sky is Falling
by midnight-blue
Summary: Bosco faces his worst nightmare
1. Part 1

  
  
Title: Sky is Falling  
  
Author: Kristin (midnight-blue)  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, I promise.  
  
Rating: PG-13 to R (possibly)  
  
Feedback: Any and all is appreciated  
  
Archive: Anywhere, just ask  
  
Summary: Bosco and Faith find themselves in a deadly situation  
  
*  
  
The city burns at night, when the hush falls unnoticed, unbidden. Freezing rain pours down, washing away the drifters and the sins and those demons he hears stirring in the silence. His hands find refuge around the glass in his hands as he sips the warm soda, listening to the dishes clang in the kitchen.  
  
Nothing feels real anymore, or the way it should be. Maybe it wasn't supposed to be that way in the first place. The divorce had been final weeks ago, sealing on paper what already existed in heart.  
  
"You need some help, Faith?"  
  
"Nah, I got it."  
  
"Good, 'cause I wasn't gonna anyway."  
  
He chides and finishes the soda, making a face at the flatness of it, the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth. She shoots him a teasing glare and dries her hands off, coming to sit across from him.  
  
"The kids are with Fred, so --"  
  
She leaves the sentence hang and he picks up after the drop-off.  
  
"You doin' okay?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. You know, it gets easier."  
  
She doesn't seem wholly convinced of this conviction and he doubts it as well, but there's a liberating sense of relief swimming in her eyes and he knows that soon she'll be happier than she's been in a long while.  
  
"So, you need a ride tomorrow?"  
  
"Well, I don't need a ride, but if you're offering, I might as well."  
  
"Don't sound so excited."  
  
She yawns, covering her mouth with her hand, and moves to stand up. His arm goes to hers, brushing softly against the long-sleeves of her faded sweatshirt.  
  
"Get some rest, I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
She nods, already half-asleep as it is, still managing a tired smile for his sake. He hesitates a moment, unsure of his place, then kisses her cheek softly, leaving before anything can be said.  
  
*  
  
Love, he thought, was overrated.  
  
Necessary, of course, for the simple and broadest functions of life, but overrated -- mostly, because, he didn't have it; didn't know it. His past of course, affected his life; he built upon the fractured foundations of his broken childhood, hoping, above all, that he could one day find his peace.  
  
He hadn't found it yet, not yet. But he was getting there. And she was the reason.  
  
She didn't even know it perhaps, and sometimes, neither did he; but when he stopped to think, really think, he knew just how much he relied on the mere rise and fall of her chest. The city today was basked in faint gray hues, blotched and tinted with yellow lights from the streetlamps. The rain pelted steadily against the windshield of their cruiser and the wiper blades broke the silence.  
  
It was too cold to be raining.  
  
"I feel so alone, Boz."  
  
This startles him. He tries to think of anything to reassure her, but the certainty escapes even him. So he says only what he knows.  
  
"Well, you've got me."  
  
A wide smile to boot, and this perks her up a little as they drive along, waiting for an end to the monotony, hoping for a break that won't involve tragedy.  
  
"55-David."  
  
The radio crackles and Bosco pulls the mike towards his mouth.  
  
"Copy."  
  
"We've got a 10-10 over on 50th. Report to scene."  
  
"10-4, we're on our way."  
  
He turns the wheel abruptly, tires squealing as he does, and floors the gas in the opposite direction.  
  
*  
  
Silence, in these situations, is always bad. It means someone's here, waiting to be found, taking extra care to remain silent. It means the shit's gonna hit the fan, he thinks, and tightens his hold on his gun, glancing at Faith in the semi-darkness.  
  
A shuffle of feet behind him draws his attention away from his intended path. He motions to Faith and they head in opposite directions. The gun feels comfortable in his grasp, familiar and reliable, and his finger rests precariously against the trigger, waiting for movement, waiting to fire.  
  
The noise comes from all around then, throwing his senses into an imbalance as he tries to pinpoint which direction they're coming from. What feels like a pipe comes down on his head, and he falls forward, dazed, the gun slipping from his tenuous grasp. One of the shadows picks it up, and in his haze, he sees it aimed at his own body, suddenly detached from himself as he continues to slip away.  
  
The last thing he hears before the darkness comes is one final scream.  
  
"Bosco!"  
  
*  
  
Consciousness comes in slow degrees; first, you come back to your mind, then you try to open your eyes; lastly, you search, or listen for a familiar face, familiar voice. Bosco's hand moves against the hospital sheets before his eyes are fully open and he struggles to part the heavy lids.  
  
"Faith?" He whispers, his voice raspy and dry from lack of water and use.  
  
"No, it's Sully. How you feelin'?"  
  
His eyes fully open now, he turns to the voice, confusion written across his face.  
  
"Like shit, Sul, what the hell do ya think?"  
  
He raises a hand to his head, feeling the gauze over where he assumes they struck him with the pipe. He remembers his gun falling from his grasp, runs his hands over his body to check for any gunshot wounds. If they had fired, nothing penetrated his vest.   
  
"Your weapon's missing, Bosco."  
  
"What?"  
  
It's a lot to think about all of a sudden, but he formulates enough thought to conjure up one final question, needing the reassurance of her safety before he can slip away again.  
  
"Where's Faith?"  
  
Sully looks to Ty, whose own head drops slightly, as if wanting to forget anything had happened at all. He looks back to Bosco, sighs, rubbing a hand across his face, and speaks evenly with an undercurrent of concern.  
  
"We have no idea. She's missing, Bosco. You've been in the hospital for three days, no one's seen her since we found you. She wasn't there when we got there."  
  
He pauses.  
  
"She's gone."  
  
He repeats it once more, as though to clarify that it's not simply a bad joke, that she is indeed gone. The finality of it hangs over the room like a sentence of death, and the fear is barely masked below the surface.  
  
Bosco sits up as straight as he can manage.   
  
The shit hit the fan, he thinks bitterly.  
  
"God Almighty, when it rains, it fuckin' pours."  
  
He closes his eyes and says a prayer and hopes to Heaven and back she'll still be a thought tomorrow.  
  
*  
  
TBC...  



	2. Part 2

A/N: Thank you all so much for the feedback, I appreciate it so much. It helps me to write quicker, so keep it coming. Thanks again and enjoy!   
  
Part 2:   
  
*   
  
In brief glances and extended remembrance, their time together falls somewhere between the cold starkness of reality and the stuff of dreams. Maybe because they spent the better part of their lives fighting for something, something that wasn't always certain. And other times, because, he let himself see her and she let him look.   
  
And they met and become whole beyond any normal capacity, as though even the fallible constraints of humanity couldn't sever what they had built.   
  
They had built a foundation of trust and hope, and even love, as he thought of it now; a foundation that, like any other, often saw its share of cracks and fractures. But also, like the pieces of a puzzle, they were able to fix it -- always.   
  
It wouldn't be the same again, because scars never really fade.   
  
But he thinks of her and him and their time together -- how perfect it was, how perfect it can still be.   
  
Her presence lingers around him, like a weary ghost still clinging to its expired existence. Her voice, most of all, calls to him in the pauses he allows himself, beckoning him to save her.   
  
_Bosco?_   
  
He wants to answer.   
  
But all that seems to escape are broken promises and false illusions and the need to be whole again.   
  
He leans against her locker, wondering what secrets she keeps inside she doesn't let anyone see. His face aches as he leans against the hard metal, shutting his eyes for a brief second before he stands up once more, turning to face the noise he hears.   
  
"Bosco, this is Detective Jack Lambert, Mr. Lambert, this is --"   
  
Bosco cuts Sully off abruptly. "Ronald McDonald. You want fries with that?"   
  
It's harsh and bitter, and Lambert's hand pulls away before it even makes contact with Bosco's.   
  
"I take it you're not happy to see me?"   
  
"She's my partner, I should be the one finding her, not you."   
  
"With all due respect, Officer Boscorelli, I'm a detective, it's my job to investigate these kinds of things. Now, I'd be willing to let you ride with me, and keep you informed -- "   
  
"Swell."   
  
He shuts his half-open locker abruptly and turns to leave.   
  
"I'll be waiting outside."   
  
*   
  
"So how's your head?"   
  
"Don't do that."   
  
"What?" Lambert asks innocently, one hand on the wheel, the other leaning casually on the door as he drives.   
  
"Act like we're best pals and you're lookin' out for me. I don't know you, I don't want to know you. All I care about is you finding Faith."   
  
He puts out his free hand defensively and says, "Fair enough. So how long you been partners?"   
  
"Long enough."   
  
"Long enough to trust her?"   
  
Bosco whips his head around abruptly. "What're you talkin' about?"   
  
"All good partners have to trust each other, I'm just wonderin' -- "   
  
"Yeah, I trust her. Hell yeah. Like no one else. What's it to you?"   
  
"Just gettin' a feel for her is all."   
  
"How's that gonna help us find her?"   
  
"There might be more to this than meets the eye, Boscorelli, and I intend to find out just what it is."   
  
He parks the car and they step out, Bosco eyeing the detective warily as he prepares to re-enter the building he lost her in. It's dark, still, though flashlights and camera flashes illuminate the room in a half-glow. Images assault him as he walks in, unsure of how far in he actually wants to go. Her presence surrounds him, burrows into him.   
  
"Detective, we found this."   
  
Bosco brushes off his misgivings and follows Lambert to the forensic investigator holding up a bullet. Lambert pulls a glove on and holds it between his fingers, examining it in the dim light. He checks the ground around the source, looking intently for something.   
  
"There's blood on this bullet. You guys find any blood in the warehouse?" He asks the guy.   
  
"Yeah, found a few puddles, nothin' too big. We'll put this into evidence and match it against ballistics, figure out what kind of gun we're dealin' with here."   
  
Lambert nods and steps towards Bosco.   
  
"She's been injured, but from the looks of it, she's still alive."   
  
His hand goes to Bosco's shoulder and draws away quickly, circling the floor, searching for clues.   
  
*   
  
_"You believe in fate, Bos?"   
  
"You gettin' deep on me here, Yokas?"   
  
"I was just wonderin'. I've been thinkin' about it -- "   
  
"What about it?"   
  
"Like some things -- most things -- happen for a reason."   
  
He smiles at her with that cocky grin she's grown to know as distinctly him.   
  
"Like you gettin' this stud right here for a partner?"   
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Bosco."   
  
He winks at her and turns his attention back to the road, a silence falling again for minutes. Then she speaks briefly, softly, almost unheard, with a seriousness he doesn't understand.   
  
"Yeah, Bos, like havin' you in my life."_   
  
*   
  
"So they got any news on her?"   
  
They gather around him, these people, the ones he's grown so used to they seem more like permanent fixtures in his life rather than just colleagues.   
  
He looks to Alex, as her worried gaze begs him for a happy reply. He wants to lie, even to himself, but sips from his beer and speaks the truth.   
  
"Nah, we're jus' waitin' it out. I went with the Detective today -- they found a bullet...and some blood."   
  
This confession requires more alcohol, hoping, as he drinks, it will dull reality for even a few brief hours.   
  
He catches their intakes of breath, their sounds of disbelief, their concern for their fellow friend, family member. Yeah, family, he thinks. He doesn't realize it until now, because he never really knew what a family was. Faith was his family, always, but as he looks at these people around him, wanting Faith to come home just as much as he, he realizes he doesn't have to be the only one depending on her safe return.   
  
The bar seems strange without her presence next to him -- her many faces: happy, sad, blissfully quiet. It seems cruel to him that they would be pulled apart now just as they found each other again.   
  
He finishes the beer and manages a small smile to Kim, whose warm hand eases the pain for a second before he leaves to go home.   
  
*   
  
She comes to him at night most often, though she's only been gone a few days. He doesn't know why, except maybe he hopes the answers will find him in dreams. The air outside remains as bitingly cold as ever, yet he wakes up in a warm sweat, brushing the remnants of the nightmare from his foggy mind, rubbing a hand over his eyes.   
  
_You trust your partner?_   
  
The question reflects in his mind and he wonders if this guy, Lambert, knows something he's not telling. It worries him.   
  
*   
  
"Who was Yokas ridin' with on Wednesday last week?"   
  
Bosco turns his head to look at Lambert, wondering at the nature of the question.   
  
"You missed your shift last week, right, you had a -- "   
  
"A doctor's appointment."   
  
"Right. So who did she ride with?"   
  
"Gusler."   
  
"Oh yeah. Nice kid."   
  
"Sure."   
  
"You don't like him?"   
  
"I don't know. He's okay, he's just too innocent."   
  
Lambert chuckles. "Funny we reach a point in time when too much innocence is a bad thing. Shouldn't we be glad there's still people out there with decency?"   
  
"Sure. My partner's decent, Sully, Davis, my friends in the FDNY, even me on a good day."   
  
He laughs again.   
  
"Gusler's okay, I just don't like him ridin' with my partner."   
  
"Why's that?"   
  
"I don't know. I just don't."   
  
Because I need to know she's safe, he thinks silently, and I'm the only one I trust to do that job.   
  
"So why'd you want to know anyway?"   
  
"No reason."   
  
"Why do you keep askin' these strange questions and then blowin' them off like they're not important?"   
  
"I told ya, I'm just tryin' to get a feel for -- "   
  
"Yeah, yeah, spare me the bullshit. You want a 'feel' for Faith Yokas? She's a cop, a damn good one, a mother, an ex-wife who did her damn best to keep that marriage together; she's kind, she's tough, she's funny, she's loyal, and she's my partner. Anything else?"   
  
Lambert moves to say something, then stops.   
  
"No."   
  
"Good. 'Cause next time you ask some dumb question, I'm gonna tell you to shove it up your ass."   
  
"I like you, Boscorelli."   
  
"Peachy. You want my autograph?"   
  
*   
  
He starts to fall asleep, drifting halfway between dreams and reality, when the shrill ring of the telephone brings him out of that bliss.   
  
Half-asleep, he pulls the receiver to his mouth, fumbling in the dark, and almost instinctively says, 'Faith', before catching himself and muttering a grumpy, "Yeah."   
  
"Boscorelli, it's Lambert. We found your gun."   
  
He sits up straighter now, gripping the phone tightly.   
  
"Where?"   
  
There's a pause on the other line, an almost inaudible intake of breath, until he says quietly, "In a puddle of blood. Yokas's blood."   
  
He drops the phone and shuts his eyes, the only sound a resonating thud as the phone hits the floor.   
  
*   
  
TBC...__


	3. Part 3

A/N: Thank you all so very much for the reviews! Enjoy! 

* 

Part 3:  
  
*  
  
It seems surreal that a part of her is splattered on the concrete, exposed, vulnerable, relinquished permanently from her body. She'll never get it back, this crimson liquid, yet it will always remain in some way in this exact spot. He can't look for too long, the nausea rising up from his stomach, and walks away to lean on the car. He's glad for the chill, somehow, he thinks, heat would make this worse.  
  
Vaguely he hears the detectives talking, the forensics team working furiously to gather every last piece of evidence.  
  
He sees his gun, something that used to be a part of him as well, and cringes away. It won't seem right to use it as his own anymore, not with where it's been, what it's done. God help me, he thinks; they used my own weapon against me -- used it on her.  
  
Lambert comes to stand beside him, hand on his arm.  
  
"Let's head back to the station."  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"For now. They'll give me what they've got when they process everything."  
  
They get in the car and start to drive, Bosco breaking the silence with a question.  
  
"Is she still alive?"  
  
Lambert doesn't want to answer, doesn't know what to say, and sighs.  
  
"There's a good chance -- "  
  
"Don't play it down. I need to know."  
  
He sighs again, running a free hand through his cropped brown hair.  
  
"I don't know. Considering the size of that puddle of blood -- we'll be lucky to find her alive."  
  
Bosco looks away, closes his eyes, and slams the fist of his hand against the door in raw frustration.  
  
*  
  
"We got to be real close these last few months, you know? We went shopping on her days off, we confided in each other. God, this is hell, " Alex Taylor laments over a half-eaten plate of spaghetti.  
  
"She had a good heart. I don't know, I just always thought she'd be around, like live forever or somethin', " Davis whispers around the lump in his throat.  
  
"I miss her. She was a good friend, " Sully says because nothing more can escape his foggy brain.  
  
Kim wants to speak, but the words seem to lose themselves.  
  
Bosco hangs his head, slamming his fist for the second time that day, against the hardwood table, shaking the glasses.  
  
"Just shut up! All of ya! You're all talkin' like she's dead, like she's fuckin' dead. She's not alright? Christ, what the hell's wrong with you?"  
  
They glance at each other nervously, though his words barely penetrate them, all understanding quite well his random, bitter ramblings.  
  
"Well, I'm not sittin' here waitin' around. I'm gonna find her."  
  
Alex shoots up, trying to stop him.  
  
"Bosco -- "  
  
Ty's hand on her arm stops her and he shakes his head.  
  
"Just let him go for now. He's gotta vent."  
  
Her eyes, distant and sad, meet his and look away, resigned.  
  
*  
  
Through the living, you hear the dead. Funny, that way. Almost illogical. But without that past, there's no foundation to build on. You hear the dead, the missing, the voices of those long gone. The streets speak to him tonight, she speaks to him -- in the silence. He wonders if she asked for him, thought of him, called out his name in fear. It's a thought he knows will trouble his sleep yet again tonight.  
  
"God, Faith, where the hell are you?"  
  
He thinks of Lambert and his ambiguous questions, the ones that seem to have deeper meaning than he's letting on.  
  
"I trust you, Faith, you know I do. Whatever happened, I trust you."  
  
He thinks of anything, anything at all that could give motivation to what happened.  
  
The stars, almost oblique on the black canvas of the New York sky, twinkle intermittently, brighter, in small degrees, than normal; always brighter in the winter. His breath freezes on each exhale, the only indication to him that he's still living. The basic functions of human life sustain him; walking, breathing -- but the rest of him falls slowly away with each second she slips further and further from him.  
  
His mind wanders to a conversation they had a few days before she disappeared.  
  
_"Bosco, promise -- if something happens to me -- "  
  
"Don't even finish that sentence, Faith."  
  
"Would you shut up and listen for a sec, huh? Now, please, Bos, if something happens to me, just promise you'll be careful."  
  
"You planning on leavin' me for some Austrian bodybuilder, want to live the high life?"  
  
"Bos, dammit, just promise."  
  
"All right, all right, I promise. You know something I don't?"  
  
She looks away.  
  
"Faith?"  
  
"I just wanna make sure you're okay."  
  
"Sure, I am. I got my charming smile, my boyish good looks -- "  
  
She slaps his arm playfully and holds her breath as he finishes.  
  
" -- and I got you."_  
  
His mind is reeling, searching for any meaning behind those words. They tended to get serious at one point or another. It was inevitable, given the time they spent together. At the time, he had shrugged it off as merely her own deep thoughts, most likely in conjuction with the end of her marriage. The end of any long-term committment, relationship, always left one with at least one thought, good or bad, one regret -- one oversight. He had thought she was just getting introspective in her lapse.  
  
Now, though, it seems that there had been more to it.   
  
There's beauty in hindsight, the value of being able to see things more clearly as you step back from them to really look.   
  
He kneels down to the concrete, the place where they found his gun, the last place he definitively knows she's been, and whispers over it.  
  
"I'm gonna find you."  
  
It's a vague promise, but one he intends to keep.  
  
*  
  
"I don't think I even remember how to pray."  
  
"Just say something, Sully, it doesn't matter. Isn't she worth it?"  
  
"Hell yeah."  
  
"Then just stumble through it, Lord knows you're not a Saint, or a priest, or a good Christian, maybe not even a lapsed Christian. You're what we call those Sunday Chris -- "  
  
"All right, Davis, I get the idea. Give me a minute, I gotta focus."  
  
"Sure."  
  
Davis crosses his chest and stands, exiting the pew quietly, waits outside for Sully to join him.  
  
"You got through it?"  
  
Sully shrugs.  
  
"Nothin' to it. Hell, if it brings Faith back, I'll confess to the damn Pope."  
  
"We all would, Sul."  
  
The comfort of the Cathedral leaves them as they exit the building, uncertain just as suddenly of the answer to their prayers. It seems nothing is certain anymore.  
  
*  
  
He walks to his car, the long shift finally over; each step is slow, his mind sluggish with thoughts of her, as though fate itself finds one more memory to thrust upon him, one more laughter or tear or utter essence of Faith to remind him of as he sits alone. He waits for news of any kind. Good or bad. One, of course, will sustain him, the other -- will simply destroy him.  
  
A noise catches his attention as he opens the door and glances inside, finding a body in the backseat. He looks around for assistance, finds no one, and stands up.  
  
The guys gasps for breath, panic clearly written through his face. Bosco finds himself wondering how the hell someone ended up in his car.  
  
"Shit!"  
  
Bosco darts forward, uncertain as to what to do. He stops silently in his tracks at the face before him.  
  
"Oh God, just hang on -- okay, hang on, dammit!"  
  
The knife protrudes from the stomach, and Bosco shouts for someone, anyone to come and help him.  
  
"Just hang on, Gusler, you're gonna be fine. I'll be right back, I gotta get help."  
  
Gusler's free hand stops Bosco's movement abruptly, blood smearing against his winter coat. He shakes from cold and shock and the fear of death so very close he can feel it in the last bit of blood pumping through his veins.  
  
"D-don't leave me, Bosco, p-please. I'm not g-gonna make it anyway."  
  
He struggles to breathe deeply, his breaths shallow and coming further apart.  
  
"F-faith. I-I know why they took her."  
  
Bosco jumps at this, leaning in closer.  
  
"Why, Gusler, what the hell happened to you guys?"  
  
"We-we saw them. They saw us -- they w-wanted to kill -- "  
  
"Kill who? Gusler! Kill who?"  
  
His eyes start to droop.  
  
"F-faith was gonna make it right. Sh-she was gonna save us all. But they-they got to her."  
  
"Who?!" Bosco's voice is frantic, pleading now for this last answer.  
  
"Don't let them hurt her. They g-got her. S-sergeant..."  
  
He falls back, his eyes close, and there's no more wheezing or foaming blood, just silence, and unanswered why's. Bosco leans back, fighting the emotions he feels himself succumbing to.   
  
The whole damn world collapses.  
  
*  
  
TBC... 


	4. Part 4

Part 4:  
  
*  
  
He sits in the back of the ambulance, staring at his hands. He doesn't know why, exactly, but he's wondering how the hell he's gonna get it off. Too much blood -- always too much. Kim kneels behind him, a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"There's nothing you could've done, Bosco. It was a fatal wound."  
  
"Yeah, " he says, not believing it.  
  
She pats his shoulder once more, smiles to the back of his head, and steps out in front of him.  
  
Then his eyes catch sight of the last person he wants to see right now. Lambert's face has an undreadable expression, though it's bad, and he sits up straighter.  
  
"Boscorelli, we gotta talk."  
  
"I'm already sittin' down so go ahead."  
  
"I would prefer --"  
  
"Just spill it, huh?"  
  
"Did you discharge your weapon at all in the warehouse?"  
  
"No. Why?"  
  
Lambert looks down, scuffs his shoe against the concrete, looks back up and sighs.  
  
"The bullet we found -- it matches your gun."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"It means you're in deep shit."  
  
*  
  
"None of this looks good for you, Boscorelli. First, your partner goes missing, then the Officer she rode with last week ends up dead -- in the backseat of your car, mind you -- now, we find out this bullet was discharged from your gun."  
  
"Why the hell would I have shot her? What the fuck kinda sense does that make? What, I shoot her, then knock myself out with a pipe? Yeah, I'm a fuckin' criminal mastermind, you better put me in solitary."  
  
Bosco shouts, rage in his eyes, burning daggers at anyone who dares to look.  
  
"Look, Boscorelli, I'll give you that. It doesn't make any sense, but the fact is, the evidence is telling us the bullet came from your gun, the gun that went missing, the one that was found in a puddle of the victim's --"  
  
Bosco lunges forward, his face looming dangerously close to the detective's.   
  
"What the hell did you say?"  
  
"Victim?"  
  
"Don't you ever - EVER - call her that! She's missing, she's not a fuckin' victim!"  
  
Lambert's hands go up defensively. "My apologies, Boscorelli. We found your gun in a puddle of Yokas's blood and what I'm saying is, none of this looks good in a court of law."  
  
"I'm bein' put on trial?"  
  
"It may come to that."  
  
"Well, how about we deal with it if it comes to that. In the meantime, you chargin' me with something or can I go?"  
  
"Nothin' to charge you with. I'm the senior detective on this case and if it makes you feel any better, Boscorelli, there's not a doubt in my mind that you didn't do it."  
  
Bosco's already halfway out the door, then turns and speaks once more.  
  
"Thanks, Lambert, I'll be sleepin' all warm and cozy tonight."  
  
*  
  
Sullivan's hand signals the waiter over, waits as three more beers are placed before them.  
  
"Nothin' like gettin' trashed on a Friday night."  
  
"Yeah, 'specially when you're partner's probably dead and it's all your fault."  
  
Sullivan and Davis pass a look between them, worried about their friend. Bosco's bottle raises halfway, a bitter smirk on his face.  
  
"A toast -- to me! The world's best partner. You wanna die fast, just find your way to Maurice Boscorelli, I'll guarantee you a world of pain. Yep, I'll ruin your marriage, alienate your kids for you --"  
  
"Bosco, man, look at me. Look at me. This isn't even close to bein' your fault. Not even close. Some bastard took her -- he's the one responsible for this."  
  
Bosco sips his beer again, half-convinced, half-gone in his own private guilt-ridden abyss.  
  
*  
  
"God, it doesn't seem fair, does it?"  
  
Alex stares ahead, barely hearing Kim's voice as she breaks the silence. They've been doing less talking and more thinking lately. Thinking of their friend, the one they've started believing in their hearts might never come back.  
  
"It never is."  
  
Kim eases a hand from the steering wheel, perches it by the window, leaning into it.  
  
"I can't imagine what Bosco must be going through, " Alex says, her eyes never leaving the road ahead.  
  
"I can't either -- I mean, losing Bobby hurt like hell, but at least I didn't have to wait for days and days. That would've been worse, I think -- just waiting around, thinking about all the things that could happen. When it's that quick, you're not thinking about anything. When you have to sit and wait, you start thinking too much."  
  
"Yeah. I can't believe it. It just never ends -- none of it. We gotta get her back, Kim. I can't lose a friend like this."  
  
"I can't either."  
  
"And, God, if she doesn't come back, I don't wanna be anywhere near Bosco when they find the bastards who took her."  
  
"None of us do, but hell, who could blame him?"  
  
*  
  
"How long this guy Lambert been a detective?"  
  
"I don't know, why?"  
  
"He's rubbin' me wrong."  
  
"What, he don't appreciate your charming personality, Bosco?"  
  
"Sully, I'm serious."  
  
Sullivan finishes buttoning his shirt, throws his locker closed, stands up and moves towards Bosco.  
  
"I'm sorry, I know you're just edgy right now, but as far as I know, this guy's good, he's got a clean record."  
  
"Who brought him in?"  
  
"Christopher."  
  
Bosco's face registers an obvious disgust as he too closes his locker, slinging his bag loosely over his shoulder and follows Sullivan.  
  
"I don't like that guy."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Both of 'em."  
  
"Yeah, well, what're you gonna do?"  
  
He taps Sully's arm. "Just keep doing my best to win 'em over with that charming personality of mine."  
  
"Yeah, you keep believin' that, it might come true. Listen, you wanna grab a bite with the gang, Davis and I are heading out?"  
  
"Nah, thanks, I've got a date."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yeah, me and a guy named Jack Daniels."  
  
*  
  
The television is turned down low, his body leaning close to the screen so he can see every little detail, right down to the way her hair chose to fall that particular day. He ignores the significant pile of dishes and laundry, the half-eaten dinner growing cold with neglect. Those things, he thinks, are immaterial right now.  
  
All he's gotta do his breathe and find her and things will start falling into place again. It couldn't have been taped more than a year ago and he smiles at her carefree innocence reflecting so vividly on the screen, a side of her he's thankful he got to catch and preserve for eternity on film, just in case -- in case she never comes back.  
  
Her hand goes to the camera as he films her, her voice filled with laughter as she sips her drink.  
  
_"Get that thing outta my face, Bos. Go film someone who's gonna flatter the camera."  
  
"I'm lookin' at her."  
  
"Hah. Don't think I'm buyin' lunch tomorrow just for that."  
  
"Nah, I figured that comment would get me a mid-afternoon snack."_  
  
Please, he thinks, don't let this be my last memory of her.  
  
*  
  
TBC...  
  



	5. Part 5

Thanks a million times to all of my readers and your reviews, they really make me write faster. I should have the next chapter posted in a day or two, so don't freak out yet! Enjoy!   
  
---------------------  
  
Part 5:  
  
*  
  
"It's her birthday tomorrow, Uncle Bosco."  
  
His hands run through his hair shakily. One more thing to make this even worse.  
  
"I know, buddy. So, listen, we'll just have to wait, you know, until we find her and give her the presents. Then we can throw her a welcome back party and birthday party."  
  
"I just want her here now."  
  
"I know, I know, so do I."  
  
"Will you find her, Uncle Bosco?"  
  
"You better believe it. I'm not stoppin' till I do."  
  
"You promise?"  
  
"Cross my heart."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"How's your sister?"  
  
"She misses mom. I think she stopped being mad at her."  
  
"How's your dad?"  
  
"He wants to talk to you."  
  
Bosco sighs. Shit, this is all I need right now.  
  
"Bosco? What the hell did you do this time?"  
  
"Don't you even start with me, Fred. Don't give me any shit because I got half a mind to come over there right now and bust your ass, you good-for-nothing piece of shit!"  
  
"You bring these kids their mother back, you understand me? It's your fault she's gone, now fix it!"  
  
"Kiss my ass, Fred."  
  
"No, I'll leave that to Faith."  
  
"You son-of-a--"  
  
He's cut off as the line goes dead. His frustration builds as he picks up the phone and hurls it into the wall, leans against the counter, and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself.  
  
*  
  
"Man, poor Gusler, " Davis remarks as he ties his shoes on the bench.  
  
"Yeah, damn shame, " replies Sullivan, leaning against the wall in wait for his partner.  
  
Bosco remains silent, his own thoughts moving collectively around between his partner's disappearance and the death of Gusler, all the while unable to shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong on their patrol last week and they were both paying for it with their own lives.  
  
"Boscorelli."  
  
He looks up from his trance at Lt. Swersky, who motions him to follow.  
  
"Follow me to my office, we got some things to talk about."  
  
He stands up, unsure of the very ground he walks on anymore, and manages a look at his friends, who offer him silent support, as he walks into what he can only imagine is yet another stage of hell.  
  
*  
  
The anxiety rises in him gradually, like a snake slowly coiling around his stomach. The presence of Sgt. Christopher and Detective Lambert does little to abate his unease, it only adds to it.  
  
"You guys throwing me a birthday party?"  
  
"Sit down Boscorelli, " Swersky gestures to the empty chair as he sits across from Bosco.  
  
"Oh man, are you in --"  
  
"Christopher, shut up. Lambert, go ahead."  
  
Lambert steps forward, his head slightly bowed as though he's about to say something he doesn't really want to.  
  
"Boscorelli, I'm sorry to do this, but the fact is --"  
  
"Will ya just spit it out already?"  
  
Lambert looks to Swersky, nodding him on.  
  
"Boscorelli, we found your fingerprints on the knife."  
  
"Are you shittin' me? I was tryin' to help him, of course I might've gotten my prints on it."  
  
"We're not done. There was a witness claiming to have seen you attack Gusler."  
  
"What?! Who?!"  
  
Swersky looks to Christopher whose face is beaming with a smug pride.  
  
"Sgt. Christopher. And we're taking his word over yours, Boscorelli. Now, as this investigation continues, we may find proof of your innocence, but --"  
  
Bosco runs a hand back and forth over his eyes. "This is bullshit!"  
  
Swersky grumbles and continues.  
  
"But, as it stands, you're suspended. I'll need your badge and gun."  
  
Bosco shoot up, anger swelling through his veins.   
  
"Lieu, what the hell --"  
  
"Stand down, Boscorelli. I'm sorry to do this, but none of this looks good for you."  
  
The fire still burns but he looks down, clenches his fists, controls the rising heat as he pulls out his badge and gun.  
  
Without another word, he leaves, stoically accepting his current fate.  
  
*  
  
"Shit, man, I can't believe this is happening."  
  
"You?! How the fuck do ya think I feel?"  
  
Bosco leans forward over his glass of soda, not wanting to meet the eyes of his 'family' just yet.  
  
"You sure you don't want something stronger?" Kim asks from across the table.  
  
He shakes his head and keeps his eyes level with the night sky, staring it down as though he's ready to make this world pay for throwing one too many obstacles in front of him. Faith, he thinks, was the stinging blow.  
  
"Whadya gonna do now, Bosco?"  
  
He gulps down the last of his soda, throws a few bills on the table, gets up from his straddle over the chair, and turns to leave with one last brief remark.  
  
"I'm gonna get her back."  
  
*  
  
TBC... 


	6. Part 6

Thanks, as always, for the reviews. Keep 'em coming!   
  
-------------------  
  
Part 6:  
  
*  
  
He sees her vividly now, like the outline of a cloud against the brightest, deepest shade of blue in the sky. He sees her when the night comes down and he starts to think he might really lose her completely someday. Not just physically, but mentally -- maybe one day, he thinks, he'll start to forget what her favorite sandwich was; her favorite song and movie; even the color of her hair and eyes and how her breath felt when she brushed against his skin accidentally with the whisper of laughter.  
  
He thinks he might start to forget her.  
  
And it brings him to his knees.  
  
*  
  
"You're tellin' me ya didn't see a damn thing? Not one damn thing the whole time?"  
  
"That's what I'm saying."  
  
"You didn't even hear a struggle or gunshot?"  
  
The man shakes his head no once more and Bosco looks down, shaking his head as well, but in amused cynicism, as though he's never really doubted the ignorance of some people.  
  
"Alright, I'm gonna ask you one more time --"  
  
"Look, pal, I don't know what you want me to say --"  
  
Bosco grabs him roughly by the collar, yanks him against the wall, the man's apron flapping in the cold breeze.  
  
"I'm not your pal, your friend, and I sure as hell won't hesitate to make it hurt when you don't tell me exactly what I need to know. Now tell me what the fuck you heard."  
  
His words are crisp, stocatto; rhythmically biting as his words drip with malice.   
  
"A-all right, all right, just don't hurt me, okay? Shit. I mighta heard somethin', mighta saw something."  
  
Bosco slides him further up the wall, enticing him to elaborate further.  
  
"I-I saw this guy get knocked down -- he looked like a cop. Th-then the woman screamed and ran towards him, but these guys came up behind her. Th-they pinned her against the one guy and hit her a few times."  
  
Bosco's hold remained just as tight, but his eyes shut briefly against the images that assaulted him.  
  
"But she was still conscious, so sh-she tried to get away, get to the cop, and they shot her. Oh God, they fuckin' shot her."  
  
The man shakes now -- with fear or guilt, Bosco doesn't know, but his anger flares up again.  
  
"You saw this happen and you didn't report it?! What the hell's wrong with you, you son-of-a-bitch?!"  
  
The man bows his head in Bosco's grip, solemn.  
  
"I'm sorry, " he whispers.  
  
Bosco drops him hard to the ground.  
  
"Shit, shit, you fuckin' bastard! Those fuckin' bastards. You holdin' anything back?"  
  
He shakes his head no, fear readily apparent as his hands tremble.  
  
"All right, did you at least see where they took her?"  
  
"No. B-but they took her away in this black van. I remember there was a 'J' and an '8' on the license plate."  
  
"I'm sorry, " he says again.  
  
"Yeah, you're a real stand-up guy. You better pray she's all right or I'm comin' back here and when I do, you're not walkin' away."  
  
He says it so calmly, with a barely visible hate beneath his eyes, that the man almost loses control of his entire body right there.  
  
*  
  
"You know how long a search like that could take, Bosco?"   
  
"I know, Sully, I know, but -- it's Faith."  
  
Sully's quiet for a moment, letting that statement sink in.  
  
"Yeah. I'll do it for her. Okay, give me some time."  
  
"Thanks, Sul. Listen, don't let Lambert find out."  
  
"I don't know what your problem is with this guy, but if it's that important to you, I'll keep it quiet."  
  
"All right. Catch ya later."  
  
"Bosco? Be careful, all right? You don't know how deep this goes."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
*  
  
"You wanted to see me?"   
  
Bosco asks as he slides into the booth of the darkened bar. He hears the cheap shots of pool balls clinking, an old song on the radio. People puff their poison and it clings to his clothes like casino smoke.   
  
Lambert gestures to the seat as Bosco glides in.   
  
"I know you don't trust me."  
  
"Man, you're good, Lambert. How long it take you to figure that one out?"  
  
"Save it. I wanted to talk to you."  
  
"So talk."  
  
He laughs bitterly.   
  
"You gotta admire some people, " Lambert says as he puffs his cigarette lazily over an amaretto.  
  
"How's that?" Bosco asks as he munches idly on some peanuts in the dish in the center of the table.  
  
"The ones who find someone to love, you know? I mean, you got that, there's not much more you need."  
  
"You always get this deep when you're drunk?"  
  
"I'm not drunk, I've just been doin' some thinkin' is all."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And I think I'm not one of those people. Shit, I wouldn't know love if it came up and bit me on the ass."  
  
He takes another drag, looks at Bosco.  
  
"You got someone to love, Boscorelli?"  
  
He hesitates.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"She know it?"  
  
"No."  
  
"She feel the same?"  
  
"Haven't gotten that far yet."  
  
He puts the butt out in the overflowing ashtray, crossing his arms over his rumpled clothing.  
  
"Yokas, right? She the great love of your life?"  
  
"Always."  
  
He nods and stands, clapping Bosco on the back.  
  
"Good. When we find her, you best hold her, Boscorelli, hold her tight and don't ever let go."  
  
He leaves with that and Bosco finishes his last piece of food, unsure where this conversation came from, why it started, and how it ended the way it did.  
  
Yeah, he thinks.  
  
I'm gonna hold her like hell.  
  
*  
  
TBC... 


	7. Part 7

Once again, I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter, like the story, etc. Your feedback is extremely productive for me, I thank you. Now, the ending of this one might uh...freak you out, but don't worry, I promise, just hang in there. And -- enjoy!   
  
----------------  
  
Part 7:  
  
*  
  
He wonders now if he can really save her. You can't save those who are lost if you don't even know where you are. He prays for her, though his lapsed religion escapes him and his prayers are awkward, clumsy. He supposes he says what matters most.  
  
Maybe, he thinks, no one hears my prayers anymore.  
  
He thinks maybe prayers are only answered to those worth saving, and his own life has run its course. She's gotta be worth it, he thinks; if anyone, it's gotta be her. The little hope he still has in this fractured world relies on her very existence.  
  
Without the very air she breathes whispering to him in the night, he forgets the beat of his heart.  
  
*  
  
"How you doing, Bosco?"  
  
He sighs as he steps aside, letting his friends in. His hand gestures to the couch, inviting them to sit.  
  
"You want anything to drink?" He asks.  
  
"Water all around, " Alex replies, forestalling a needless five minutes wasted on what drinks they all want; drinks they'll forget after the first sip.  
  
He hands them their water in cheap styrofoam cups, leans against the counter, running a hand back and forth through his disheveled hair.  
  
"Sorry, I uh-haven't gotten around to doin' the dishes."  
  
Last thing on my mind, he thinks. They all notice the pallor of his skin, the way it's so pale he's almost translucent. His red-rimmed eyes stand out against the whiteness and they see his nightmares in the deepness of his hollow irises, seeking a resolution.  
  
Alex sets down her cup, picks up a tiny frame on the table as her friends make idle chitchat in the background. It's a recent photo, she thinks; one taken within the last few months. Both Faith and Bosco are dressed casually, Faith with her hair down, and Bosco's face seems so much younger than it does now -- still weighted down by the past, but free of the burden he suddenly has. They're leaning into each other as though they were whispering secrets and were caught, camera on them, turned, and smiled.  
  
"So how are you, Bosco?" She asks again, as she leans against his couch.  
  
He hits the tip of his foot against the hardwood floor, contemplating what he wants to say and how to say it. The only thing he can think, really, is the raw, unfiltered truth.  
  
"It hurts like hell."  
  
You know when you get a pain in a muscle sometimes, he thinks, and it starts out sorta mild, but it builds and builds and it takes over your entire body, and the pain is so intense you can't breathe? That's how it feels.  
  
It feels like dying.  
  
*  
  
"You find anything, Sul?"  
  
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, evidence that his search is less than optimistic.  
  
"I've narrowed it down pretty good. There's these ten right here, along with the addresses."  
  
Davis leans over, holding his coffee tightly in his free hand.   
  
"Well, we can check this out on our shift today when we're free, give Bosco the other five, even it out. We gotta find her, Sully, the longer she's missing --"  
  
He waves his hand.  
  
"I know, Davis. It's not gonna come to that."  
  
*  
  
Four down, one to go.  
  
He walks a steady path to the entrance of what can't be more than an abandoned shack. He wonders if Sullivan and Davis have had any luck and perhaps this is the very place she's been the entire time, just waiting for him to come.  
  
He looks at the van and shudders. It gives off an ominous aura, as though the very thing itself is evil, allowing for evil things to be done inside it.  
  
The need to see inside, to look for blood is almost overwhelming, but it wouldn't do much other than inflate his anger.  
  
So he moves forward, weighing his various responses, though most of them lead to violence of some sort. The possibilities, the what-ifs, the nagging doubts in the back of his mind propel him and hold him back all at once as he steels himself against the unknown.  
  
Before he gets any further, the shrill ring of his cellphone halts his steps and he moves away, whispering into the mouthpiece.  
  
"What?" It's harsh, but still a whisper.  
  
"Bosco, you need to come down here."  
  
"Davis, I swear to God this better be important --"  
  
"It is, Bosco. Shit, I don't know how to say this."  
  
"Just say it."  
  
"We found Faith, Bosco."  
  
A feeling, one of hope, rises in him quickly and he clutches the phone in eager anticipation. What's said next makes the ground tremble beneath his feet.  
  
"She's dead."  
  
*  
  
TBC... 


	8. Part 8

Oh, you guys are great, seriously! Yes, there are three chapters, including this one, so...Faith has to live, right? Oh, come on, I'm not that cruel!   
  
Well, you didn't think I'd keep you waiting long with an ending like that did you? Here's the next chapter, enjoy!  
  
---------------  
  
Part 8:  
  
*  
  
You realize some things in the twilight of life, like a switch has been flicked, only -- the bulb blows out before the darkness can ever really wash away. That's how he feels, suddenly; he realizes the depth of his feelings for Faith and now, it seems, that revelation doesn't matter. Little else does.  
  
The idea that their entire existence together has suddenly flickered out like the short fuse of a light bulb nauseates him, haunts him, seeps into his mind and wraps around his heart, tightens in his chest until he can scarcely breathe.  
  
No comfort comes to him, no brief thought that perhaps she hadn't suffered, in fact, just the opposite strikes him.  
  
A blind array of emotions washes over him: sadness, regret, guilt, anger, longing, and the last bit of hope he's had in something worthwhile remaining permanently in the flawed life he's grown used to over the years.  
  
So when he stands here, waiting for them to pull back the sheet and identify her, no one questions why it takes him five minutes to simply turn his head halfway to the gurney.  
  
They pull it back, his chest draws breath, his head throbs and his hand grabs the metal slab for support.  
  
The face, he thinks, is familiar, the hair bears a certain resemblance to strands he's often longed to run his fingers through. So he looks at the face, the face that once drew breath, and stares for a moment, expecting an agony like no other to wash over him.  
  
It doesn't come.  
  
And he smiles.  
  
*  
  
"It wasn't her."  
  
"No, thank God."  
  
He leans back against the side of the ambulance as Alex sits next to him with Kim, Davis and Sullivan staring at him from their place on the sidewalk.  
  
"Who found her?"  
  
"Lambert."  
  
"Didn't he know it wasn't her?"  
  
"He's only seen her in pictures, and, at first glance, she does look like Faith. But it's not her."  
  
"How do you know that for sure?"  
  
His head whips around to look at Kim, as though the question itself is an abomination.  
  
"Because I know, alright? She's my partner."  
  
He sits on his hands and swings his legs out.  
  
"Plus, she's got this little birthmark on her shoulder. It's so tiny you almost can't see it -- but I know it's there."  
  
Some eyebrows raise at just how and why he knows this, how close he actually is to his partner, but the question dies on their lips.  
  
"All right, well, we better get in touch with Lambert, let him know we still got a missing person on our hands, " Sully speaks over his empty cup of coffee, tossing the trash in the nearest bin.  
  
"I'll tell him, " Bosco answers, standing up from his position and leaving without another word.  
  
So she is still out there, somewhere, and suddenly, he has a purpose once again.  
  
*  
  
Shoving someone up against a wall, he thinks, tends to be a very effective way to get just what you want. Especially when you happen to have a loaded gun noticeably clipped to the side of your pants.  
  
"Something doesn't add up here, Lambert, and you're gonna be straight with me for once."  
  
"What do you want me to say, Boscorelli?"  
  
"Whatever the hell you've been hiding, and I want to know now. My partner is out there somewhere, alone, and I think you know something."  
  
"Will you let me go, huh? I don't like being pinned against a wall."  
  
Bosco relinquishes his hold and lets Lambert slide to a standing position, turning his back to lean against a wall himself, prepared to listen to this explanation.  
  
Lambert paces for a moment, collects his thoughts.  
  
"God, Boscorelli, this whole damn thing got out of control. I don't know where to start."  
  
"The beginning."  
  
"Right, well --"  
  
He runs a shaky, unsure hand through his hair, turns away for a moment as he pauses.  
  
"I don't know what to do anymore, " he says shakily as he turns back to Bosco in the darkness. Bosco's head shoots up and jerks back in surprise as he finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun.  
  
*  
  
TBC... 


	9. Part 9

Thanks for all the reviews so much!! There's only one more chapter left to go, so hang in there! 

-------------- 

His hands fly up, defensive, unsure how to end this, fix it.  
  
"Whoa, Lambert, what the hell's going on?"  
  
His hands shake as he points the gun at Bosco.  
  
"Lambert? Come on, what the hell happened?"  
  
"They set me up, they set me up..."  
  
"Who?! Who, Lambert, dammit, who?!"  
  
*  
  
"Davis -- shit, Davis, come here."  
  
Davis looks over Sully's shoulder at the object of his interest.  
  
"That black van -- the one Bosco told us about -- it's registered to Detective Lambert."  
  
"Oh God, he's been in on it this whole time."  
  
"Why would he do that?"  
  
"Why do people do anything they do? Who the hell cares, we gotta get to that location."  
  
*  
  
"He was supposed to be my friend, Boscorelli -- my friend. But then, he -- he took her. I think she's dead."  
  
He lowers the gun, waves it around in frustration and defeat, but Bosco's hands remain up, ready to pounce if need be.  
  
"Who, Lambert? Let me help you."  
  
"Christopher. Sgt. Christopher -- he and I -- we grew up together, we were friends -- he said he needed a favor."  
  
"What kinda favor?"  
  
"He needed to cover up a murder."  
  
*  
  
"Whoa, Sully, look at this -- this van -- Yokas put it in her report, the drug bust her and Gusler stumbled onto last week."  
  
Sullivan's eyes bug out as he stands up, hand against his closed locker.  
  
"What the hell?"  
  
"Yeah, says a van -- the one we found -- was parked at the scene of a drug deal, apparently they were staking it out, and -- not much else, she says they failed to apprehend the suspects. That's odd."  
  
"Very odd."  
  
"Yes indeed, " says a new voice from the shadows. Conveniently, it's Sgt. Christopher, at just the right place.  
  
"You know anything about this, Sarge?" Sully asks innocently.  
  
"Why should I, Sullivan? Think I was there?"  
  
"Seems odd that you were the one to bring Lambert on and this van happens to be owned by him, the same van that also happened to be at the scene of a crime Yokas and Gusler witnessed last week. Gusler's dead, Faith's missing. Something's not adding up."  
  
"Well, why don't I make it real clear for you, " he says, his eyes dripping with an evil aura neither men thought him capable of.  
  
*  
  
"This got out of hand, Boscorelli. It wasn't supposed to be like this."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
He sighs, lowering his gun completely.  
  
"Christopher called me in. He uh -- he had apparently been making money off drug trafficking, helping to fund the campaign for Senator Graham. Apparently Graham promised to make Christopher, I don't know, uh -- chief of police or something important. Anyway, the two of 'em were in on this thing and it got out of hand and they were planning on takin' out this guy they owed money to. But they wanted me there -- this big detective -- so I could fix the crime scene, make sure they left no evidence."  
  
"So you went along with it."  
  
"I didn't know what it was all about until they had me there. It was nighttime, raining, last Wednesday."  
  
"That's the night Faith and --"  
  
"Yeah, I know. I know because -- because they were there, I saw them, they saw us."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yeah. So, I didn't know what was going on, I pull up, next thing I know, Christopher shoots this guy. I see Faith and Gusler parked in an alley just watching, unnoticed, and uh -- waitin' for them."  
  
"What the hell happened?"  
  
"They run out of the car, guns drawn, pretty freaked out when they see it's Christopher. He threatens them, obviously. Their jobs, their lives. But what really got Faith, I think, was when he threatened you."  
  
"You're shittin' me."  
  
"No. I guess he knew her soft spot, said he'd have you fired, killed even, if she told. So we covered it up, but I knew she'd find a way to leak it, she's smart. But they needed to make sure I wouldn't talk, so they --"  
  
"They what?"  
  
"I lied, Boscorelli, when I said I didn't know love. I did, once, at least, I thought I did. But they took her, the night after it happened, they kidnapped my girlfriend, for their own protection, make sure I wouldn't blab. So I made a deal with them. I'm sorry -- God, help me, but I made a deal with them."  
  
"What kind of deal?" Bosco asks, unsure he really wants to know.  
  
"That I would help them kidnap Faith, cover it up, pin it on you, and -- oh God, kill her, and then I would get my girlfriend back."  
  
Bosco's barely controlled anger erupts, his tightly bunched fists launching an assault on Lambert as he blindly rages against the man.  
  
"You sonofabitch! You sold her out, you fuckin' let them take her. And if she's dead, if they killed her --"  
  
"I know, I know! But I know where she is. They were supposed to kill her tonight, but -- I know where she is."  
  
"You better pray she's still alive, because if she's not, I will kill you and I don't care if the whole fuckin' world knows."  
  
"I know."  
  
*  
  
"You can't get away with this, Christopher, " Sullivan remarks as the man advances towards him. Davis creeps up behind the guy, pins his arms behind his back. Sullivan smiles at their own ambush.  
  
"Not so tough, now, huh, Sarge?"  
  
Davis leans close to the man, a smirk on his lips.  
  
"Who's the loser now?"  
  
"Now, you gonna tell us where Faith is?"  
  
Christopher smirks.  
  
"Not that it matters. My partner probably killed her already."  
  
Sullivan's gloating smile drops away, anger unmasked replacing it.  
  
"You're gonna tell us where she is now or I'll make you scream."  
  
This surprises Davis for a brief instant until he realizes this is Faith they're talking about, Faith's gentle life that hangs in the balance, and tightens his hold on the squirming man.  
  
*  
  
The rain comes faster and harder and the brakes squeal as they park in front of the warehouse. Bosco's only function now is getting in there and getting her, it's his mantra, his focus. His arm grips Lambert's as he drags the man alongside him.  
  
It's dark when they enter and Bosco pulls his gun out with his free hand, moving cautiously through the darkness.  
  
"Faith!"  
  
He hears the drips of leaking rainwater, the eerie silence of the abandoned tomb, and listens closely for the sound of her voice, her screams, her breathing.  
  
"Faith!"  
  
A noise, the scuffle of movement behind him catches his attention and he turns around quickly, just in time to see a man coming at him with a knife. He hits the guy on the side, knocking him down, and pulls a flashlight from Lambert's belt, shining it on the face.  
  
The guy has a cocky grin, still gripping the blade of the knife in his hand as he runs it gently along his cheek.  
  
"She was a good fuck, Officer. Real good. I had a nice time with her."  
  
He cocks the gun, finger against the trigger.  
  
"Where is she?!"  
  
*  
  
TBC... 


	10. Part 10

Well...we've come to the end. I want to thank all of you so very much for the feedback, it did so much for my muse, and I'm just glad you enjoyed it! And now, for the last chapter.  
  
----------  
  
Part 10:  
  
*  
  
The night, he supposes, must not be above ten degrees, but the sweat still runs in beads down his chest as the weight of the situation hits him with alarming clarity. He wonders if now he might really have to face her dead, lifeless face, and his finger shakes against the trigger.  
  
It's her blood on his hands, he thinks. Even if she lives, her blood is on his hands. Because he couldn't stop this, couldn't prevent it.  
  
"Where. Is. She?" He asks with clenched teeth, carefully and precisely, allowing little room for any answer that doesn't lead him to her.  
  
The man still doesn't respond, so Bosco kicks the knife from his hands, hoists him up with his last free arm, and keeps the gun carefully pointed at the guy's neck.  
  
"Faith!" He shouts repeatedly into the darkness.  
  
He hears her muffled screams and moves to the source, the anxiety building. He finally nears her battered form, tied to a chair. Her face is grimy, marred with dirt and various cuts and bruises. There's a large gash on her head, cuts on her arm he supposes are from the knife, and a bleeding gunshot wound he fears can only signal delayed death. But her face, reassuringly alive, fills him with hope.  
  
"Sssh, you're okay now, Faith, you're okay."  
  
He starts to remove her gag, and hears the sound of running footsteps. He stops, whips around, sees Christopher coming towards him. The Sergeant shoots Lambert from behind with his drawn gun and shoots the tiny overhead bulb, engulfing the room in total darkness.  
  
Christopher's partner breaks free and moves towards Bosco, struggles with him for a moment until two gunshots ring out and the movement stills.  
  
Sullivan's flashlight shines on Bosco, who pushes the dead man off him as he quickly stands up, moving with lightning speed to Faith, whose chest still moves as it should, though shallowly. He turns and sees Lambert drop his smoking gun, the one that shot and killed Christopher in the struggle; Lambert falls to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth.  
  
"They killed her, Bosco. My Sarah. They killed her."  
  
Bosco doesn't speak, but feels a pang of sympathy at the man's loss, and relief at his own triumph.  
  
"Don't forget w-what I said, and don't ever let her go."  
  
And he dies suddenly without another word.  
  
Bosco turns to Faith, shouting to Davis for an ambulance as he pulls out her gag.  
  
"Th-they killed her, Bos. They just shot her. She was begging them --"  
  
He releases her bonds, pulls her to his chest tightly, rocking her gently.  
  
"Ssh, ssh, just try not to think about it right now. You're gonna be all right."  
  
"I'm so tired."  
  
His hands press tightly against her gunshot wound, trying to stop the continuous flow of blood as her eyes start to droop.  
  
"Oh God, stay awake, Faith. Just keep your eyes open, come on. Shit! Look at me."  
  
She does and smiles faintly, leans closer against him, and drifts off dreamlessly.  
  
He feels her warm breath against his skin and it's still a comfort for now. The sound of the sirens reassures him and he moves his hands to reach beneath her, picks her up effortlessly, cradles her preciously against him, protectively, her head tucked beneath his chin.  
  
He whispers to her as he carries her, "I've got you, Faith, I've got you. Just rest now."  
  
*  
  
"What the hell went wrong?" Sullivan asks as they wait anxiously in the hallway of Mercy Hospital.  
  
"I think Lambert was just trying to do the right thing...in the end. He screwed up, he was trying to fix it. He didn't need to take Faith, and God, if something had happened to her, I would've killed him myself."  
  
"I know. We all would've, Faith's part of us."  
  
Bosco's head bowed forward in silence, hands interwoven as he prayed for an outcome that let her stay.  
  
"I would've taken the fall, the way they planted the evidence, but --"  
  
"It's all out there now, Bosco. Christopher's dead, his partner's dead, the Senator's in jail, Lambert's dead --"  
  
"And Gusler and Faith -- Faith's --"  
  
"Gonna be fine."  
  
"Yeah, " he says, wishing he can believe it.  
  
Kim and Alex join Bosco, Sullivan, and Davis, setting their bags down and leaning back against the hard seats of the waiting room.  
  
"It was bad, but I think she's gonna make it."  
  
Bosco's head remains bent forward, but his eyes shut in slight relief.  
  
"She'll be in pain, but --"  
  
"She's alive, " Alex finishes as she rubs a comforting hand across Bosco's back.  
  
"Have you talked to her kids?"  
  
"Yeah, Fred's dropping them off in a few hours, he's not staying, but uh, he said he'll bring them by."  
  
*  
  
Alex watches as Bosco's breath evens out, his sleep troubled and uneasy, but sleep nonetheless. After his visit with Faith, his mind allows him now the ease the reassurance of her recovery provides.  
  
A sound catches her attention as she stands, sees Fred arrive with the kids. With the time she had been spending with Faith lately, she'd had, she felt, the privelege of getting to know Emily and Charlie better. Charlie looks around for familiar faces, spots Alex, and launches himself into her embrace.  
  
"Is Mom okay?"  
  
She nods, rubs a hand over Emily's head, and thanks Fred as he leaves.  
  
"Is Uncle B okay?" Charlie asks, head turned to the sleeping figure of Bosco.  
  
"Yeah, buddy, he's just tired. We'll see him later. How about we go say hi to your mom, she'd love to see you guys."  
  
She leads them to Faith's room, enters quietly into the darkened room. Faith's eyes remain closed, her sleep deep, induced from sedatives.  
  
Alex leans down to the children's ears, whispers, "Just go give her a kiss and let's let her sleep."  
  
They scurry over as quietly as they can, Charlie standing on tip-toe to plant a kiss on her cheek, Emily enfolding her arms gently over her mother in a clumsy hug. She takes her brother's hand and leads him out of the room, smiling at Alex as she does.  
  
Alex moves to Faith, rests her hand over hers.  
  
"You're gonna be okay, Faith. Just get some rest."  
  
She leaves, closing the door quietly behind her.  
  
*  
  
Her eyes remain fixed on the cup of hot chocolate in her hands, though it's just as full as it was thirty minutes ago when he brought it to her. Her eyes move in hesitant glances around the room, wanting to focus on him, not knowing how, or even if she should. She wants to say so much, can sense that he has things he wants to say as well, but the silence hangs between them still.  
  
He pulls his chair closer, smiles a brief half-smile, and rubs his hands together, looking down. This is the first day she's been truly alert, the last few days finding her only in brief semi-conscious thought. So it's enough for him just to see her sitting up, knowing she still can.  
  
The air outside remains bitterly cold, his cheeks, even now, still slightly red from the exposure as he walked over here, making sure to order a hot chocolate just the way she always liked it from that diner near their precinct. The name escapes him, he can see the bold lettering of the diner greeting him as he walks through, but suddenly, all thought that doesn't involve her seems immaterial.  
  
She moves to take a sip, finally, though she's sure it can hardly be called "hot chocolate" anymore.  
  
"Careful, " he says, "d-don't burn yourself."  
  
"It's been sitting here in my lap for half an hour, Bos, I don't think it could burn an ice cube at this point."  
  
He smiles in spite of himself.   
  
"Yeah. Well, I can blow on it if ya want, " he replies, smirking.  
  
She slaps his arm playfully, the I.V. line attached to her finger reminding him she's still hurt, still needs to heal. And it hurts him.  
  
She gets serious now, her eyes looking down once more, and asks him cautiously, "Bosco, w-why did you think I was dead?"  
  
He swallows, wonders what to say.   
  
"They uh, killed this hooker -- figured I guess no one'd miss her -- and, uh, God, she looked like you. She looked like you Faith and I --"  
  
His voice breaks, he looks away, blinking against the tears. She reaches a free hand out to him, covers his hand with hers.  
  
Bosco looks back up, smiles, squeezes her hand and doesn't let go.  
  
"Faith, what did they do to you?"  
  
"They were gonna kill me, Bos, they just taunted me, said they had killed you, Davis, Sullivan, anyone you can imagine. They killed Lambert's girlfriend a few hours before you got there, they just -- they just shot her, right there. And Gusler, oh God --"  
  
"It wasn't your fault, Faith."  
  
She nods, lips tightly pursed.  
  
"I kept thinking, Bos -- I kept thinking, if you were dead --"  
  
She pauses, unsure if she should finish.  
  
"If you were dead -- I wouldn't know what to do. I can't imagine what it felt like to think I was dead."  
  
"I didn't think, Faith, I couldn't think. That's how it felt -- I forgot to breathe."  
  
"Bosco --"  
  
He strokes his thumb over her hand, kisses her cheek, silencing her.  
  
"You're tired, Faith, get some sleep. We have all the time in the world."  
  
He takes the cup gently from her hand, tucks her down into her bed.  
  
*  
  
Epilogue:  
  
*  
  
The fact that she returned to him he regards as nothing less than a miracle, but he finds himself not being able to truly appreciate it because of the fact that he had failed her. Failed to save her. Sure, she's alive, he thinks, alive and safe, but he hadn't saved her from it. It had happened, she had been taken from him, and he can't ever erase the memory of it.  
  
It hangs like a black cloud above him, tarnishing his otherwise ecstatic demeanor, his happiness at having her back, having her with him, loving her.  
  
The idea that she had been raped, he thinks, pained him most especially, but the knowledge that it had been a lie provides at least one comfort through all of this. That one act would've simply collapsed the fragile thread of sanity he still holds within.  
  
Her sleep, for once, is dreamless and free of nightmares; her bruises and cuts are beginning to fade. He supposes all things leave their mark in some way. All things we experience -- good or bad -- leave behind a thought or memory, whether joyous in remembrance or painful in passing, and even the deepest scars eventually fade with time. They still remain, but fade -- fade with the passage of days and months and years as new memories come to replace the bad ones and the good ones wash away the tears.  
  
His hand strokes through her hair so softly, runs up and down her skin, across her cheek, savoring her presence.  
  
He leans down, plants a kiss against her forehead.  
  
"Thank you, Faith, for everything."  
  
His hands wrap around her tiny one, casing it protectively between his.  
  
"I've been lost, I think, for the better part of my life."  
  
He kisses her fingers, her hand.  
  
"But then you came, you found me. We found each other."  
  
Lips brush against her cheek.  
  
"You saved me."  
  
He runs a hand up and down her arm.  
  
"And I'm never gonna lose you again. I promise."  
  
He leans forward now, brushes hesitantly against her lips.  
  
"I love you, baby."  
  
He wonders if he should've said it, but she doesn't stir, so he leaves the conviction hang between them, thinking maybe one day, soon, he'll say it again when she can perhaps smile back.  
  
Dropping her hand carefully, he tucks the blanket around her tightly, brushes back a stray strand of hair, and leans comfortably against his seat as he flicks off the light.  
  
"I'll see you in the morning."  
  
And he does.  
  
*  
  
[ end ] 


End file.
